


misattributions of arousal

by starryvin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Penetrative Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 03:11:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20400715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryvin/pseuds/starryvin
Summary: Lines blur most often when you are morally decayed.---Not a sexy story. Saying Dead Dove: Do Not Eat felt a bit much, but if consent issues squeak you...





	misattributions of arousal

Mauga wakes up when Baptiste jerks in his sleep. The man's having a nightmare again.

He watches, mildly interested. He never sees Baptiste scared like this. He's handsome even as his face draws into a grimace. His brows knit together and his full lips part as he breathes faster than before.

Mauga raises himself up on one elbow. He can't let Baptiste suffer, he knows as much. He doesn't want to. And it'd be a bad look if the man woke up suddenly to find his friend silently watching him. (Any of their team could wake up. Most of them sleep like bricks, but they could.)

But he can steal a moment. His cock is chubbing up, a pleasant hot pressure in his briefs. He never could quite tell the difference between arousal and fear on other people's faces.

Baptiste draws in a sharp breath. A sound escapes his lips -- a shaky little whimper. The type of a sound, perhaps, that you'd emit if you were trying to be quiet, trying to hide, but just couldn't hold it in.

Mauga shuffles minutely closer, so he is curling over and around Baptiste. Sturdy, strong medic. _His_ sturdy, strong medic. Laid bare -- vulnerable -- by sleep.

Is this dream the same thing that Baptiste thinks about in those quiet moments when his eyes get a distant look and worry creases his bow?

Mauga massages a slow circle into his stomach to keep from moving his hips. The pull of the movement on his skin makes his next breath come harder.

Not that Baptiste notices. He is deep in the throes of his dream. He tosses his head and it falls to the side, face now turned to Mauga.

He is beautiful. Those little dreadlocks haphazardly fall on the regulation pillow. His eyes are at the level of Mauga's collarbone and yet his legs, stretched straight and tense, barely reach to Mauga's ankles.

Anyone is small next to Mauga. But Baptiste is big next to most, and that's what makes it feel so damn good when the man's face relaxes minutely and he sighs in his sleep. Like he's safe. Protected. Held like a prized item. Maybe he can smell his friend, maybe that makes him feel safer.

Mauga knows he is skirting the ledge. He lets his hand fall to rub his cock, just a little relief for the molten iron balling up in his stomach and making his mouth water. Once, twice. Then he needs to either wake up his friend or pretend to be sleeping. Baptiste's lips are chapped, but in the low light there is a slight sheen Mauga can make out when he leans just a little bit closer. He needs to push his cock between those plump lips. Pull out, see the shining of spit on his reddened skin.

Mauga is a physical person. So, when he puts a hand on Baptiste's face, it's not odd. He pats the man's cheek.

"Hey, man," he says quietly. "Buddy. Bad dream?"

Baptiste starts up and Mauga relishes in restraining him so he doesn't lash out, even if there is no reason to believe he would.

"Easy," he drawls as he loosens the tight hold he has on Baptiste's wrists. He's practically on top of him now, cock hanging heavy but likely unnoticable in the darkness. Baptiste looks bewildered for a second, and then relaxes, just as Mauga told him to.

"Thanks," he whispers. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"You did," Mauga says and lets go fully, reclining back to his own space. Fun over. "No harm done."

Baptiste smiles like a cartoon sun. It's just how he is. Friendly, happy, reassuring. In all but the spaces between, the hours before or after a hit, the short pauses he sometimes has even on the battlefield, times Mauga can tell something is up.

Baptiste shuffles closer.

"Thank you for waking me, my friend."

Mauga welcomes him with an arm draped over and around Baptiste's head.

"I'd be a poor friend if I let you suffer," he says.

**Author's Note:**

> Blizzard: Baptiste had a friend.  
Me: Hell yeah! Drama!  
Blizzard: The friend is a propable sociopath, super dangerous, and weirdly possessive over someone who cut ties with him years ago.  
Me: h e l l y e a h d r a m a


End file.
